Sarah's Cabin
Katie Achilli
Two weeks after her funeral I drove to Sarah’s old summer cabin on Forest Lake. It was sunny outside, and warm. I turned onto the dirt road but I didn’t grimace this time when I heard the rocks being flung against the bottom of my car. I didn’t pay attention to the nagging pings and pangs on the metal like I always used to. Instead I noticed how the afternoon sunshine bled through the trees and gave the green youth of summer a warm glow.
I eventually reached Sarah’s cabin that was nestled slightly towards the edge of the lake. I got out of my car and the air hit my nose with a sweet smell, one that I didn’t remember. I enjoyed it so much more than the murky lake smell that I was always welcomed with when she used to invite me down here. The cabin smelled different too. After unlocking the thin, wooden door, the scent of eucalyptus entranced me. Or maybe it was lavender. I closed my eyes to enhance the aroma and the memory of Sarah. I opened my eyes and noticed all of the furniture was placed exactly the same way it was left when Sarah was last here. A few magazines and a book were left on the worn, wooden coffee table, each folded open to where she had left off reading. Two small circles were indented on the ottoman from when Sarah used to put up her feet. I could remember her always sitting in that ragged old velvet chair reading, or just relaxing.
“How’s that magazine you’re reading?” she had once said, gracefully looking at me from the chair, “Any good recipes in that one?”
“No,” I had answered, my focus too taken by the shabby discolored chair, “not really.” The entire cabin used to gross me out at one point. I never understood how one could live in such cramped quarters with moths and a water-stained shower.
I slipped off my shoes and sat in the chair. I placed my feet up on the ottoman, matching Sarah’s indents with my heels. Her feet were smaller than mine. I always used to tease her about her petite body. I closed my eyes again and sat there for a while, inhaling the sweet smell (it was evergreen now). Inside my eyelids I was home. The scents, the warmth, the slight and distant sloshing of a canoe on the water, and even the chair felt like home. They were exactly the way that Sarah had described them to me when she first bought this place. I thought nothing of them at the time, and dismissed them during our tea talk. But now I understood the love of this place. Sarah’s love. Our love.
I eventually reached Sarah’s cabin that was nestled slightly towards the edge of the lake. I got out of my car and the air hit my nose with a sweet smell, one that I didn’t remember. I enjoyed it so much more than the murky lake smell that I was always welcomed with when she used to invite me down here. The cabin smelled different too. After unlocking the thin, wooden door, the scent of eucalyptus entranced me. Or maybe it was lavender. I closed my eyes to enhance the aroma and the memory of Sarah. I opened my eyes and noticed all of the furniture was placed exactly the same way it was left when Sarah was last here. A few magazines and a book were left on the worn, wooden coffee table, each folded open to where she had left off reading. Two small circles were indented on the ottoman from when Sarah used to put up her feet. I could remember her always sitting in that ragged old velvet chair reading, or just relaxing.
“How’s that magazine you’re reading?” she had once said, gracefully looking at me from the chair, “Any good recipes in that one?”
“No,” I had answered, my focus too taken by the shabby discolored chair, “not really.” The entire cabin used to gross me out at one point. I never understood how one could live in such cramped quarters with moths and a water-stained shower.
I slipped off my shoes and sat in the chair. I placed my feet up on the ottoman, matching Sarah’s indents with my heels. Her feet were smaller than mine. I always used to tease her about her petite body. I closed my eyes again and sat there for a while, inhaling the sweet smell (it was evergreen now). Inside my eyelids I was home. The scents, the warmth, the slight and distant sloshing of a canoe on the water, and even the chair felt like home. They were exactly the way that Sarah had described them to me when she first bought this place. I thought nothing of them at the time, and dismissed them during our tea talk. But now I understood the love of this place. Sarah’s love. Our love.
